I would like to share this story with any of you who read this. I had submitted it to a contest. Unfortunately I did not win, but that does not stop me from writing nor sharing the story itself. I hope any of you enjoy this and understand it is based on something deep down that is a very vulnerable part of me.
As I looked in the mirror I barely recognized myself anymore. He had hit me so many times that I had to search for any bare skin that had been untouched by color. When I married him I had not planned on fighting for my life. Wondering if the feeling was ever mutual, I knew that I had truly loved him and now I had to train myself not to care. I guess it is true what they say about teaching an old dog new tricks. I had spent 11 years of my life telling him how I felt, giving only him my body as we made love. For the first five years it was just us.
Half way through our marriage he slowly left me even though he claims I was the one who ran out on him. There were late nights at work, business trips that he had never taken before in his work position, and money that kept disappearing from our financial accounts. The first time I had asked about it he tongue-tied his way around the topic in a manipulating way so that the missing money somehow became my fault. I watched over the next few months, as hundreds more disappeared and somehow ended up in different towns to what looked like hotels or local bed and breakfast places.
I did call the numbers associated with the charges. To my amazement some were expensive motels with well-known restaurants connected to them. Knowing this, my heart sank. This was not proof that he had cheated, but the odds did not look good for him. I confronted him for the second time in hopes my intuition was wrong. This time he became furious with me throwing insults at me like "fat" and "ugly". After a few minutes I do not remember what happened after his strong hand swiftly slapped my face on the left side. I thought I heard my jaw break. Either way I remember my face hurting so much I could barely keep my eyes open as I began to cry. He had never hit me like that before. Usually I was just shoved or slammed up against the wall, but this was going beyond my comfort zone.
There was another trip which he had taken where he was gone for a couple weeks. I thought maybe I could inspire what we used to be when we first started dating. Before he returned I got him a gift that no one would think about getting him and planned a special dinner. I framed his favorite wedding picture of us since we did not have any other pictures of us together. It frightened me to think that it had been 5 years and the only pictures of us were from our wedding. Sometimes I wondered if he had been ashamed of me. I was not allowed to meet his friends, take pictures, or be seen in public with him. I recall I had asked about this once and my hand almost ended up with a third degree burn from our stove.
Even the smallest burn that I had received left me questioning our life together. Why would someone who loved you want to hurt you? Why was I hidden from the rest of the word? Why was I a secret that somehow did not exist? Every day I slowly felt "myself" slipping away. Over time I barely knew who I was. I had no motivation and no goals except to live exactly how he wanted me to. Over the next few months I found out that if I did not live exactly up to what he thought he deserved I was then ‘punished.’ Yes; I was actually hit, kicked, pushed, burned you name it. With each punishment he seemed to get more creative. My confidence, my personality, any essence that was truly me was almost gone until one day I realized I had enough.
Our relationship should not be one-sided and where a partner was your parent who could punish you, but a team member who helped improve what you shared together. I had tried my best to improve. I thought if only I could have improved, would he have loved me more? If I could have been the women he was really attracted to, would he ever have loved me?
As much as I loved him I started to realize I needed to love myself more. The last time I had seen my psychologist she had told me I needed to look into this mirror and remind myself that I was worth more, that I was worth more than his cheating and his lying. She reminded me over and over that I was worth more than the physical abuse my body had to endure, but mentally I could not fathom being worth anything at all to this point. Had I been worth something would he not have hit me to begin with? Would he not have loved me for me? If I had been worth something I would not have gone through this in the first place. I had only been gone for a couple weeks and I still blamed myself.
Everyone kept telling me that I was the victim, that he hurt me, and it was not my fault. I was asked once, ‘If your friend was going through the same situation you are would you allow her to blame herself?’ Of course I said ‘no’ explaining she could have never foreseen what was to come. It was then I realized I should be a little easier on myself.
My reflection in the mirror started to soften as I went through my thoughts. I needed to forgive myself, but I could not because I had heard my voice in my head and my heart telling me to leave him. This time my morals had taken over. I had pushed myself to love him and be dedicated to him. I thought this is what love was, until it started to physically hurt.
I remember the small stuff: being slammed against the wall, slapped across the face, purposely tripped on a hard surface. Unfortunately, I was never able to figure out the reason. It was small stuff: I did not wash a dish right, I did not place an object the right direction, and the sad part is…when asked, he could never explain to me why he was mad.
A few short months later I stumbled across the reason. I had a moment to look at his phone which showed text messages and voicemails from other girls. Yes, plural ‘girls.’ I was so embarrassed and angry. Others had warned me about him, but I believed everyone deserved to be loved by someone. I obviously did not think that I was one of them. He had actually "left me" months ago and here I was trying to compete with something that I had not known about until now or at least had proof of.
Many of the girls were begging to be in a relationship with him through this phone. After some research I found out most were insecure single mothers. I knew he was not happy that we did not have a child yet, but I was more thankful we did not have kids. I knew I could never bring a child into his demented mess. Why should a child suffer because of their parent’s insecurities like his?
After some time of investigation and a threat towards my life, I left him. I was scared for my life with or without him. I had kissed him that morning I left him just before I headed out the door for work because I still loved him. I had to force myself to hold back my vomit because of where those lips had potentially been. I had proof of that now.
That night I left my husband and many after I cried myself to sleep wishing I could rip my heart out so the pain would go away. I tried to ignore it as much as possible by working, realizing I deserved a better life. A woman who is physically abused by her domestic partner usually goes back about 6 times before actually removing herself from the situation permanently. I was a one timer. I was proud that I was smart enough to realize that I should ‘love (myself) more than love him.’ It was a friend told me that once.
The next few weeks were a blur. Slowly events came rushing to my memory.
“You slutty whore. I know you slept with him. I ought to get rid of a cheater like you. I should have known better than to marry your sorry ass.”
After that I was kicked and punched for the next 20 minutes. I was surprised that I did not bruise from this incident, but noticed that the time for him to realize what he was doing and to "snap out of it" was taking longer and longer.
I looked up. There was my reflection one last time in this mirror. I saw my reflection knowing there was a light at the end of the tunnel. My separation from him was almost complete and I was moving to my own place. I looked into my eyes, touching my hand to its reflection in the mirror.
“Hello old friend, it has been years since I have seen you. You look better from when I last saw you. I am sorry I was not there to protect you earlier. You do not have to worry, I am here now. Please forgive me.”
“I forgive you. I just feel so alone now. No one truly understands. I wish I could just hate him and get it over with, but I still love him. Don’t you feel it?”
“I do, but you are worth more. You are a smart, beautiful, and unfortunately WE have to go through these feelings to get to that point. I will not leave you, not this time.”
“Why not? Others have. I know they do not understand or want to deal with the sob story anymore. They just keep telling me do this, do that, and you will feel better. Well, guess what? It does not work.”
I was getting so angry that tears began to drip down my cheeks. I had gone through these thoughts before, but not like this.
“Alex. Alex. Alex, snap out of it? Finish it.”
“Ok. I am Alex. I am a woman of worth. I am smart, I am pretty, and I am a survivor. I do not need a man to make me happy. I may have lost myself and stopped dreaming. I will move on. I will progress. I will find love again even if it is learning to love myself. Good bye, Alex.”
I removed my hand from the glass leaving a heated hand print behind. My eyes, still gazing at themselves, acknowledged the farewell as I slowly moved away. A call from downstairs, “Alex, it’s time,” broke my trance. I was going to move past the group home to my own home.
I looked back to the mirror. “I’ll see you later, Alex. Come visit me?”
“I will -but I won’t leave you this time.”
Half way through our marriage he slowly left me even though he claims I was the one who ran out on him. There were late nights at work, business trips that he had never taken before in his work position, and money that kept disappearing from our financial accounts. The first time I had asked about it he tongue-tied his way around the topic in a manipulating way so that the missing money somehow became my fault. I watched over the next few months, as hundreds more disappeared and somehow ended up in different towns to what looked like hotels or local bed and breakfast places.
I did call the numbers associated with the charges. To my amazement some were expensive motels with well-known restaurants connected to them. Knowing this, my heart sank. This was not proof that he had cheated, but the odds did not look good for him. I confronted him for the second time in hopes my intuition was wrong. This time he became furious with me throwing insults at me like "fat" and "ugly". After a few minutes I do not remember what happened after his strong hand swiftly slapped my face on the left side. I thought I heard my jaw break. Either way I remember my face hurting so much I could barely keep my eyes open as I began to cry. He had never hit me like that before. Usually I was just shoved or slammed up against the wall, but this was going beyond my comfort zone.
There was another trip which he had taken where he was gone for a couple weeks. I thought maybe I could inspire what we used to be when we first started dating. Before he returned I got him a gift that no one would think about getting him and planned a special dinner. I framed his favorite wedding picture of us since we did not have any other pictures of us together. It frightened me to think that it had been 5 years and the only pictures of us were from our wedding. Sometimes I wondered if he had been ashamed of me. I was not allowed to meet his friends, take pictures, or be seen in public with him. I recall I had asked about this once and my hand almost ended up with a third degree burn from our stove.
Even the smallest burn that I had received left me questioning our life together. Why would someone who loved you want to hurt you? Why was I hidden from the rest of the word? Why was I a secret that somehow did not exist? Every day I slowly felt "myself" slipping away. Over time I barely knew who I was. I had no motivation and no goals except to live exactly how he wanted me to. Over the next few months I found out that if I did not live exactly up to what he thought he deserved I was then ‘punished.’ Yes; I was actually hit, kicked, pushed, burned you name it. With each punishment he seemed to get more creative. My confidence, my personality, any essence that was truly me was almost gone until one day I realized I had enough.
Our relationship should not be one-sided and where a partner was your parent who could punish you, but a team member who helped improve what you shared together. I had tried my best to improve. I thought if only I could have improved, would he have loved me more? If I could have been the women he was really attracted to, would he ever have loved me?
As much as I loved him I started to realize I needed to love myself more. The last time I had seen my psychologist she had told me I needed to look into this mirror and remind myself that I was worth more, that I was worth more than his cheating and his lying. She reminded me over and over that I was worth more than the physical abuse my body had to endure, but mentally I could not fathom being worth anything at all to this point. Had I been worth something would he not have hit me to begin with? Would he not have loved me for me? If I had been worth something I would not have gone through this in the first place. I had only been gone for a couple weeks and I still blamed myself.
Everyone kept telling me that I was the victim, that he hurt me, and it was not my fault. I was asked once, ‘If your friend was going through the same situation you are would you allow her to blame herself?’ Of course I said ‘no’ explaining she could have never foreseen what was to come. It was then I realized I should be a little easier on myself.
My reflection in the mirror started to soften as I went through my thoughts. I needed to forgive myself, but I could not because I had heard my voice in my head and my heart telling me to leave him. This time my morals had taken over. I had pushed myself to love him and be dedicated to him. I thought this is what love was, until it started to physically hurt.
I remember the small stuff: being slammed against the wall, slapped across the face, purposely tripped on a hard surface. Unfortunately, I was never able to figure out the reason. It was small stuff: I did not wash a dish right, I did not place an object the right direction, and the sad part is…when asked, he could never explain to me why he was mad.
A few short months later I stumbled across the reason. I had a moment to look at his phone which showed text messages and voicemails from other girls. Yes, plural ‘girls.’ I was so embarrassed and angry. Others had warned me about him, but I believed everyone deserved to be loved by someone. I obviously did not think that I was one of them. He had actually "left me" months ago and here I was trying to compete with something that I had not known about until now or at least had proof of.
Many of the girls were begging to be in a relationship with him through this phone. After some research I found out most were insecure single mothers. I knew he was not happy that we did not have a child yet, but I was more thankful we did not have kids. I knew I could never bring a child into his demented mess. Why should a child suffer because of their parent’s insecurities like his?
After some time of investigation and a threat towards my life, I left him. I was scared for my life with or without him. I had kissed him that morning I left him just before I headed out the door for work because I still loved him. I had to force myself to hold back my vomit because of where those lips had potentially been. I had proof of that now.
That night I left my husband and many after I cried myself to sleep wishing I could rip my heart out so the pain would go away. I tried to ignore it as much as possible by working, realizing I deserved a better life. A woman who is physically abused by her domestic partner usually goes back about 6 times before actually removing herself from the situation permanently. I was a one timer. I was proud that I was smart enough to realize that I should ‘love (myself) more than love him.’ It was a friend told me that once.
The next few weeks were a blur. Slowly events came rushing to my memory.
“You slutty whore. I know you slept with him. I ought to get rid of a cheater like you. I should have known better than to marry your sorry ass.”
After that I was kicked and punched for the next 20 minutes. I was surprised that I did not bruise from this incident, but noticed that the time for him to realize what he was doing and to "snap out of it" was taking longer and longer.
I looked up. There was my reflection one last time in this mirror. I saw my reflection knowing there was a light at the end of the tunnel. My separation from him was almost complete and I was moving to my own place. I looked into my eyes, touching my hand to its reflection in the mirror.
“Hello old friend, it has been years since I have seen you. You look better from when I last saw you. I am sorry I was not there to protect you earlier. You do not have to worry, I am here now. Please forgive me.”
“I forgive you. I just feel so alone now. No one truly understands. I wish I could just hate him and get it over with, but I still love him. Don’t you feel it?”
“I do, but you are worth more. You are a smart, beautiful, and unfortunately WE have to go through these feelings to get to that point. I will not leave you, not this time.”
“Why not? Others have. I know they do not understand or want to deal with the sob story anymore. They just keep telling me do this, do that, and you will feel better. Well, guess what? It does not work.”
I was getting so angry that tears began to drip down my cheeks. I had gone through these thoughts before, but not like this.
“Alex. Alex. Alex, snap out of it? Finish it.”
“Ok. I am Alex. I am a woman of worth. I am smart, I am pretty, and I am a survivor. I do not need a man to make me happy. I may have lost myself and stopped dreaming. I will move on. I will progress. I will find love again even if it is learning to love myself. Good bye, Alex.”
I removed my hand from the glass leaving a heated hand print behind. My eyes, still gazing at themselves, acknowledged the farewell as I slowly moved away. A call from downstairs, “Alex, it’s time,” broke my trance. I was going to move past the group home to my own home.
I looked back to the mirror. “I’ll see you later, Alex. Come visit me?”
“I will -but I won’t leave you this time.”
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